


Mess Hall Gossip

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-17
Updated: 2006-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly's first day back, she has a chat with a young recruit in the mess hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mess Hall Gossip

It was only the second morning after Polly, Mal and the rag-tag team of recruits they'd picked up along the way had arrived in the capital. After signing up, they'd all been separated into their barracks, Mal (who had chosen the male persona) and the little lads to the men's barracks, Polly and the very few other openly female recruits into a small inn that had graciously given up some of its rooms for the Cause.

Meals, however, had not been included in the deal – innkeepers are businessmen after all – so Polly rose early to wander to the appointed mess hall. Her skirts had muddied and torn on the long hike, so that morning she'd chosen a pair of trousers to wear, at least until she was due to present herself to the officers, or could find a replacement skirt. A rather large part of her was hoping she wouldn't.

The mess hall was long and tall and built for the purpose – a kind of military building Polly had never seen before. Navigating through the masses of gathered soldiers she attracted more than a few glances and whispers, which she ignored. That was something that, for a while at least until she had her own command, she'd have to deal with on a case by case basis. She calmly collected her tray and found a table, and, setting her jacket and shako next to her on the bench, ate her horsebread and drank her tea. She ate slowly, knowing that it could easily be her last meal for a while.

"Is that a regulation haircut?"

She looked up in the face of a darkish young man, probably still in his teens, with soft stubble along his cheeks and on his upper lip.

"Not exactly," Polly replied evenly, wondering why this was the question that had first broken from a whisper to audible words. She also noticed that the young man was sitting alone. There was an eagerness in his eyes that she figured nailed it – a new-comer. "Is that a regulation shave?"

"Oh – well – haven't had time to shave yet." The young soldier grinned proudly. _He must be very young_, Polly thought. "I see you don't have that problem yet. But you should definitely get a haircut. That looks a bit sissy to me. You don't have to try to look younger than you are. You're really quite tall, you know."

Polly stared at him for a while, until it clicked. She wasn't wearing her jacket at the moment – just the regulation buttoned undershirt – and she still hadn't grown any curvier in the past year. She wasn't sure whether to be offended or amused. _He thinks I'm a boy!_

Into her silence, he spoke again. "I'm going to be in Sergeant Rimerin's squad. Do you know where you'll be stationed yet?"

"Not yet," Polly said guardedly.

"I was hoping to be in Sergeant Jackrum's squad," the boy continued wistfully. "My dad was his corporal for over a year. He has a whole bagful of stories about him."

"Jackrum's retired," Polly said, and was about to continue, but the boy cut in again.

"I heard he's dead. But Dad says they said the same thing back when they were on the front fighting the swede-eaters and Jackrum sure was getting a lot done, for a dead man. That's what my Dad says."

"I got a letter from him," said Polly. "A photograph. He's definitely retired this time."

The boy stared, and Polly, despite herself, had to suppress a smug smile. She realised she was acting like a brat – or a young boy – boasting over her old sarge. "He was my sergeant for a while," she explained. "Last year. When there was all that trouble with Ankh-Morpork."

The boy's face lit up. "No way! Really? You're probably just saying that. You're making it up."

Polly shrugged, and bit into her horse bread.

They continued in silence for a while, both eating, the boy chewing thoughtfully and shooting an occasional glance in Polly's direction. She knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. He seemed a talkative type.

And, true enough, he soon leaned in close and whispered to her loudly, "Is it true what my Dad says about Jackrum?"

"Probably," she replied evenly. "He does get a lot done."

"That's not what I meant. There's another thing my Dad says." He looked furtively around, glanced over his shoulder, and thus made sure that, had anyone been looking at them, they would now be looking at them a lot more closely. He leaned in even closer and whispered. "That... you know... that he was _that way_."

"What way is that?" Polly asked, caught somewhere between amusement and suspicion. She'd never thought Jackrum could be caught, but then she had caught her... him... and if this boy's dad had been his corporal for a whole year...

"My dad says," the boy continued, voice getting louder as he forgot himself, and a gossip-happy gleam lighting in his eye, "that whenever they went to... you know... a knock-shop, Jackrum would always pick the girl who looked the most tired, you know, like they'd rather be somewhere else. And when they came down from upstairs, or their room, you know, he'd always get a room, when they'd come back, the girl would be looking all happy and refreshed. And Jackrum's a big fat ugly brute, my dad says, and no girl would look happy and refreshed after a bit of Jackrum. So my dad says, he thinks that they're not doin' any of the inning and outing, you know, when they're in that room. He thinks he's just going for appearances' sake."

Polly felt her throat turn dry, and took a sip of tea to cover it up. "What... what does your dad think he'd do that for?" she asked. _How many people had noticed?_

The boy, who'd leaned away, now leaned back in. "Dad says Jackrum always had favourites. Pretty young soldiers. His little lads, he called them. So my dad figured, he's liking them pretty young soldiers better than the girls. You know what I mean? Well, is it true?"

Polly snorted tea, spilling drops of hot liquid over the table, and burst into laughter.

When she finally calmed down, she noticed the boy looking a little affronted. Still giggling and wiping tears and tea off her face, she apologised, finished her cuppa, and rose. "Oh, lad," she finally managed. "Well, that would be one explanation, I suppose. Believe what you like. But you should know, old Jackrum's got himself a whole dozen grandchildren living over at Scritz; I've got a photograph somewhere to prove it." She put on her shako and shook on her jacket; his eyes went wide when he saw the sergeant's pips on its arms. Then he noticed the cut of her jacket, and the eyes went from round to saucer-like.

She stood regarding him thoughtfully for a moment, a smile still playing on her lips. "What's your name, private?"

"Er... Labko. Labko Dumasi, sir. Ma'am. Er."

"Well, Private Dumasi, thank you for the story. Maybe we'll meet again, and then I'll tell you a few new ones your Dad wouldn't know." With that, she retreated, still giggling.

She wondered if Jackrum had heard that one. Probably had, even fostered it. Well, the world was a big place, full of all sorts, and what was one more lie on top of the rest?


End file.
